by Myla Jackson
The reasoning part of Wyatt’s mind flew out the shrouded window and his body shouted Hallelujah!
Fiona couldn’t believe she’d just given him consent to ravage her body. Then again, she’d been anticipating this since he’d run out on their dinner earlier that evening. Hadn’t she been wishing he’d show up? The cool shower forgotten, her body heated like a raging inferno centered around her aching, throbbing core.
Like a conquering warrior, he claimed her lips, his mouth bearing down, his tongue thrusting against hers.
She surrendered gladly, meeting his tongue with her own caresses. She slid her hands along his arms and down his body to cup his ass. Tight denim encased hard muscles, bunching and flexing with each move. Wanting him to lie on the bed beside her, she grasped his buttocks, urging him to climb in.
He resisted, shaking his head as he released her lips. “Not yet. I might be rusty at this, but I like my women to be as excited as I am.”
Women. Fiona would have snorted and started to, but Wyatt shifted, his lips sliding down her neck to capture one of her nipples between his teeth. He rolled the hardened bead, dampening the fabric of her gown.
Her back arching as if of its own accord, Fiona fought to breathe.
Then with an impatient movement, Wyatt straightened, gripped the hem of her gown, yanked it up over her head and tossed it over his shoulder.
She sat up and reached for the button of his jeans.
His hand descended over hers. “Not yet,” he repeated.
“But I like to make love to my men naked.”
His eyes flared, his lips tightening for a moment. “In time. You let him loose and I won’t have any control left.”
She laughed softly. “And that’s a problem?” She yanked the top button free.
Again he stopped her, stepping away from her reach.
Fiona pressed her lips together, frustration lending to her impatience. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” She cocked her head to the side, her brows rising in challenge.
He met her challenge by slipping a finger beneath the elastic of her panties.
Thankful she’d worn her best black lace thong, she watched as he slid the scrap of fabric over her hips and down her legs excruciatingly slowly.
By the time he yanked them free, she was all but panting. Her pussy creamed when he stepped between her knees. Still sitting up, she ran her hands over his chest and downward over his ripped belly. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
His lips hovering over the pulse beating at the base of her neck, he breathed warm air across her skin. “I’ll make it worth your time.”
“I’m counting on it.” She ran her hands over her breasts, plumping them for his pleasure and then let her fingers slide down to the tuft of hair covering her sex. Parting her folds, she fingered her clit, slipping lower to coat a digit in the liquid seeping from her channel. He just wasn’t moving fast enough for her. She needed him inside her. Sooner rather than later.
When he dropped to his knees, her heart seized and she stroked her clit faster. In all the relationships she’d been in, and there hadn’t been many, never once had a man gone down on her. She shivered, her knees widening to accommodate his broad shoulders brushing against the insides of her thighs.
He reached out, lifting her breasts in the palms of his hands, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “You have beautiful breasts.”
Fiona had always considered them nothing more than adequate. But the hunger in Wyatt’s gaze made her want to believe him. She cupped the backs of his hands and squeezed his fingers around them.
After a moment, he dragged his hands away from beneath hers and caressed her sides, leaning in to capture a turgid peak between his lips.
Fiona drew in a deep breath, her chest pushing out to meet his lips and offer more.
He sucked her nipple into his mouth, pulling hard.
Her insides tightened and she threaded her hands through his hair, cupping the back of his skull to bring him nearer.
Ah, yes. She liked the way he sucked hard, the slight pain stimulating everything else in her body to a heightened sense of awareness. It only made her want more.
He abandoned her breasts and eased his way down her torso to the tiny triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. Glad she’d had a bikini wax the day before, she waited, holding her breath for what came next.
Wyatt glanced up. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
“Fuck no, you won’t,” she wailed. “Please, don’t stop now.” Fiona threaded her fingers through his hair and urged him on his path downward.
Streamers of electric shocks rippled through her as his fingers parted her folds, laying open her clit for the next stage in his calculated attack.
He flicked the slim bit of flesh with the tip of his tongue.
Fiona’s fingers dug into his scalp, a moan rising from her chest, escaping through parted lips, air lodging in her throat.
He chuckled, his breath cooling the dampened skin. Before she could catch her breath, he stroked her again with that magical tongue.
Her head fell back, her hands trembling.
Two strokes and she was ready to beg him to take her, fuck her, slam into her hard and fast.
Instead, he pulled her clit into his mouth and nibbled gently, swirling his tongue around it until every one of the tightly packed nerves were screaming with delight.
When he dipped a finger into her channel, she almost launched off the bed. Two fingers were even better. Three fingers, plus the continuous flicking, sucking and tapping at her clit sent her flying over the edge. “Now,” she begged. “Please come inside me now.”
He lurched to his feet, scooted her up on the bed and dug into the back pocket of his discarded jeans for his wallet, from which he extracted a foil packet.
Desperate to have him inside her, Fiona sat up and reached for the condom.
Naked, standing in front of her, his cock jutted out, thick, hard and so big it made Fiona’s mouth water. Tearing the foil packet open with her teeth, she held off removing it from the pouch, tempted to taste him as he’d tasted her.
She slipped off the bed to kneel at his feet and wrapped her hands around his length. Velvet-encased steel. He thrust into her palms.
Flicking her tongue across the tip, she reveled in the warm, softness. Now that she was there, she wanted to make him as crazy as he’d made her. She laid the condom packet on the pillow beside her, slipped her fingers down to the base of his cock and cupped his balls in her palms.
His quickly indrawn breath and stiffened body told her she was on the right track.
Emboldened, she leaned forward and traced the rim with the tip of her tongue, sliding across the top to dip into the tiny hole.
His dick pulsing, Wyatt dug his fingers in her hair and urged her to take him.
Fiona opened her mouth, wrapping her lips around the bulbous tip.
He flexed his hips, thrusting into her.
She didn’t object, adjusting to take his full length until it bumped into the back of her throat, liking the way it made her feel. Though at his feet, she felt the power of what she was doing to him and settled into a smooth rhythm, sucking him in and easing back off. Pressure of his hand in her hair let her know when to speed up, until he grew so stiff, he jerked out of her mouth, scooped her into his arms and tossed her onto the bed.
Like a marauding soldier, he climbed up between her legs, took the condom from the pillow beside her and rolled it down over his damp cock. Then he flipped her onto her belly, raising her hips until her ass poked into the air.
Too excited to protest, she noted another first. She’d never made love doggy-style. Now she wondered why. It was so deliciously primal, animalistic and hotter than hell. Exposed and loving it, she curled her hands into the sheets as Wyatt thrust into her, burying himself all the way
to the hilt.
Her channel clenched around him as he dragged himself back out and thrust into her again. He rode her like a bucking bronco, slapping her ass every other thrust. The sting of his hand raising her pleasure another notch.
Fiona rocketed into the stratosphere, her body jerking with the force of her orgasm.
Wyatt thrust into her once more, then bent over her, cupping her breasts, his cock sunk deep inside, throbbing, pulsing in rhythm with her.
Her arms trembling, Fiona collapsed onto the bed, Wyatt following her down. For a moment she couldn’t find the strength to do more than moan, which she did.
Wyatt pulled free of her and removed the spent condom, dropping it in the waste basket beside the bed. He rolled over onto his side, turning her over to face him. He brushed the hair out of her face and skimmed his thumb over her swollen lips. “Are you all right?”
“Holy shit,” she breathed, touching his thumb with her tongue. “Are you always that good?”
A chuckle rumbled from his throat. “If I said it was my trademark, would that offend you?”
“Not in the least. I’d understand completely. If you could package that and sell it, millions of women would be standing in line to buy. Including me.” She closed her eyes briefly and dragged in a shaky breath. “Wow. I mean, wow.” Fiona lay for a moment, hoping her pulse would slow to normal. But with his cock nudging her thigh, she didn’t see that happening anytime in the near future. Facing the truth head on, she knew she couldn’t be satisfied with one round of sex with the soldier. She curled her fingers around his still stiff cock and squeezed gently. “How long until we can do that again?”
A bark of laughter erupted from his throat and he gathered her close, resting her head in the crook of his arm. “Let me catch my breath, sweetheart. Let me catch my breath.”
Chapter Seven
Making love to Fiona the second time was a completely different experience and even more moving than the first. What it lacked in the fierce need of the first coupling, it made up for with the intensity of burning desire and tenderness expressed. Taking his time, he coaxed her to the edge by playing his fingers through her folds, flicking at the swollen nub of flesh between.
When he had her where he wanted her, begging him to fill her, he opted to enter her mission-style, preferring to observe the range of emotions crossing her pretty face as he thrust into her. Her pussy closed around him, tight, hot and drenched in her juices. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass.
For a moment, he thought perhaps this was his reward for surviving the hell of captivity in Somalia. As he lay with Fiona gathered in his arms, he could almost imagine a normal life. Waking up in the morning to sweet kisses from a beautiful redhead after making love, followed by a restful night’s sleep. A life in which he could lie by his lover’s side and forget all the tragedy he’d witnessed, maybe even get past the nightmares that had plagued him since his liberation from the Somali militants.
But he couldn’t allow himself to relax in a woman’s arms. His dreams had been so violent he’d hurt himself before he could awaken. What would happen to Fiona if he allowed himself to fall victim to the horrific nightmares? Unwilling to risk it, he eased his arm out from under her, pressed a feather-soft kiss to her lips, the simple gesture sparking desire anew. Forcing back his longing, he left her bed.
Too wound up to sleep, he paced until his craving subsided and he could lie still. Stretching out on the rollaway cot, he stared up at the ceiling, longing to crawl back in bed with Fiona.
At one point, she stirred and moaned softly.
Wyatt gave an answering groan and turned away. Until he could control his nightmares, he was no good for Fiona or any other woman. Tomorrow he’d see about getting a different room. The temptations were too powerful while he was alone with her. His mind made up, he drifted into a disturbed slumber, fraught with terrorists lurking in every shadow.
Fiona woke before dawn, the darkness like a black abyss. Something had disturbed her, but with her mind so fogged with sleep, she didn’t know what. Reaching out to her side, she felt for the warmth and comfort of her soldier’s chiseled body, only to feel the cool sheets against her fingertips. He’d left her bed. Had he left her room?
She lay still, listening for the reassuring sound of his breathing, hoping he snored just a little. A groan sounded on the far side of the room from the direction of the door and the rollaway bed.
The springs creaked and the sheets rustled sharply as if someone fought to be free of them.
“Wyatt?” she called out softly.
The only answer was another ragged groan.
Fiona rolled out of the bed and felt her way along the wall to the bathroom. Leaving the door mostly closed, she flipped the light switch, illuminating the bedroom just enough she could see the man caught in deep sleep, thrashing against the sheets, his naked body covered in sweat.
“Wyatt,” Fiona called out. She hurried across the floor and knelt beside him, her gaze skimming across his naked skin, angling lower to the nest of hair at the apex of his thighs. His cock lay flaccid, his fists clenched in the sheets at his side. Whatever he dreamed of caused him so much stress his head twisted back and forth.
“No,” he called out. “Don’t kill him. Please.” His words were mumbled but their meaning clear and the anguish on his sleeping face tore down the walls of any defenses Fiona might have fooled herself into believing were strong enough to resist this man.
Her vocal cords knotted in her throat, she swallowed hard and touched his shoulder lightly.
Wyatt jackknifed in the rollaway bed, caught her hand and yanked her across him, catching her throat in a headlock in the crook of his arm.
Fiona tried to cry out, but the air had been cut off to her lungs. She fought his hold, tearing at his arm with her fingernails. She kicked her heels but barefooted she left little impression on the man caught in the throes of a world only he could see.
As the gray haze crept in the sides of her vision, she stopped struggling. Nothing she could do, no matter how hard she fought would break his hold.
As she allowed her body to go limp, his grip slackened until he let go altogether.
Fiona sucked air into her starving lungs and slipped to the floor, out of his reach, her gaze on him wary, ready to move quickly if the need arose.
Wyatt’s eyes were wide open as he stared down at her. He blinked once, his brows drawing together. “Fiona? What are you doing on the floor?”
She gulped hard to clear her throat, her hand pressed to the skin still warm from his arm’s lock. “You don’t remember?”
He shook his head, his eyes widening. “Oh dear God, did I hurt you?” He dropped to the floor beside her, reaching for her.
Moving out of range of his hands, she shook her head. He didn’t remember. He’d been so entrenched in his dream world, he didn’t recall grabbing her. “Wyatt, you were dreaming.”
He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I hurt you.” He buried his face in his hands for a long moment. “I was afraid of that.” He pushed to his feet and turned away.
Fiona rose and started to lay her hand on his back when she noticed the ragged lines of welts crisscrossing his skin. She’d felt them earlier, but had been too overcome by passion to ask. Now that she could see them clearly and feel the raised scars, her chest tightened. “Wyatt, what happened to you?” she asked softly, tracing one of the angry lines.
“Nothing.” He shrugged off her touch and reached for his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. Grabbing his jeans, he dragged them up his legs and buttoned them. Then he bent to shove his foot into a boot.
Her heart aching for him, she stepped closer. “Come back to bed,” Fiona said, feeling him slipping away from her, the stone wall of silence eating at her.
At first he said nothing as he dragged his jeans down over the boot. “I ca
n’t sleep with you, Fiona. I might hurt you again.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder.
Wyatt jammed his other foot into the boot and then straightened. “I told you. I’m not the forever kind of guy. I come with far too much baggage. I’ll see the concierge about another room. If I can’t get one, I’ll sleep in my Jeep in the parking garage.”
“No.” She grabbed his arm. “You can’t sleep in parking garage. I’m sure there’s some rule to that effect.”
“Then I’ll sleep out on a park bench. The weather’s warm.”
“Please.” She gripped his elbow. “Please stay with me.”
“No. I’ll end up hurting you worse than this time.” He stepped past her and her hand fell to her side.
“I’m willing to take that risk,” she said softly.
He turned to face her. “You might be willing to risk your life. I’m not. I’ve already lost someone I cared about by not recognizing my limitations. I won’t lose another.” He looped his shoulder holster over his arm. “Do yourself a favor and stay away from me. I’m bad news.”
Fiona could tell by the firm set of his square jaw that there was nothing that she could say that would change his mind. With her heart heavy in her chest, she watched as he left, closing the door with a definitive click behind him.
“You’re not bad news,” she whispered. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
And now he was gone.
Wide awake and hating himself for hurting Fiona, Wyatt channeled his anger into his work. He walked the short distance to the convention center, checking in with the night security guard. The sun had yet to appear over the horizon, but it was on its way, heralded by the gray pre-light of dawn. For the next three hours, he combed the building, checking storerooms, walking every inch of the facility, memorizing the entrances, the staircases and the security camera blind spots. Vendors started arriving and unloading at around seven o’clock, anxious to set up display booths where they’d demonstrate the products or services they had to offer in a free trade market. The flurry of activity increased with each passing hour, the number of trucks coming and going giving Wyatt an uneasy feeling about the security of the building and its occupants.